Revenge is Counted Sweetest
by IsOkayGood
Summary: Tom Marvolo Riddle decides it's time he finally meets his father he never knew.


_As usual, I do not own Harry Potter._

"Hello, miss me?"

Tom Riddle was unsure how long the young boy had been leaning in the doorway of his manor home, but his casual tone of voice seemed out of place as Tom had never seen the boy in his life.

The boy stepped out of the shadows, revealing himself to be tall, dark haired and somewhat attractive, not unlike the man whom he had stepped toward. Tom could see that the boy couldn't have been much older than seventeen, however something about the way he spoke made it seem as though he could just as easily be centuries old. A sly smile seemed to creep across the face of the younger of the two as he came closer, stirring the stomach of the other.

"Tom Riddle, I can presume?"

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?"

"Oh. We are quite testy today, aren't we?"

Tom wanted nothing more than to order the young boy out of his house, but something seemed to be holding him back. Though he likely wouldn't admit it, he was amused by the audacity the boy had to simply walk into his house uninvited and wanted to see where the situation would go.

"I asked you who the hell you think you are."

"Tom Riddle."

The boy extended his hand in a manner that was obviously mocking Tom, which was more than enough on his nerves, which were already being tested today.

"Oi, I don't have time for your rubbish, okay? Either you answer my questions or you get the hell out of my house."

The boy sighed. "It's quite a shame when a father doesn't even recognize his own son. You filthy muggles never have respected Wizarding blood."

Tom Riddle Senior wanted to retort to what was obviously meant as an insult, however he was still trying to grasp that the child whom he had once left on the doorsteps of orphanage all those years ago was the same man who stood before him.

He could remember clearly the late December morning in 1926 when he awoke to another boy knocking at his door. This young boy was ragged, gaunt and dirty and had brought with him a young child who he had claimed was Tom's. Tom had protested to the boy, saying he couldn't possibly be the father of the young boy as he had been in an engagement with another young lady for over a year. He would _know_ if he had a child, wouldn't he? It's not something so easily forgotten.

As it was, the strange boy on his doorstep all those years ago had refused to leave until Tom took the child, and then did what seemed to be the only option; he left the child, bundled up in the warmest blankets he could find, on the orphanage doorstep. What would his fiancée think to come home to this situation; how could he ever explain, when he didn't even know what was going on?

He looked back at his son. It was undeniable; the boy was a spitting image of himself... except the eyes. Something about his eyes looked foreign and empty, unlike the ones he saw on anyone he knew. But the boy who had brought him here, he had those eyes. Tom would never let himself believe that a story like that could ever be true, but now he could say nothing, nothing that could prove otherwise.

"Honey, who is it?" he could hear his wife calling to him from the kitchen.

"Out of my house!" He yelled at the boy. His wife knew nothing about this son of his, and he would be damned if that was going to change any time soon.

"No, I think I'll stay. It's a rather nice house."

He stepped forward toward Tom Riddle Junior, intent on having his way of life preserved. "OU-"

His desperate cry for normality was cut off mid sentence. In a flash of green light, having to hide this boy from his wife wasn't the thought going through his mind. But then again, neither was anything else.

Mrs. Riddle didn't even have time to register her husband's body, eagle-spread on the floor, let alone acknowledge and run from the boy standing in the doorway. Soon, she lay beside her husband; she would never have the chance to ask about him.

"Now we're even."

_Author's Note: Just a little fic to derive from my usual. Anyway, Morfin Gaunt apparently spoke not exclusively, just happened to prefer, Parseltongue which is why he was able to talk to Tom Sr. for those who were wondering. Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed._


End file.
